Lone Wolves
by WynBird
Summary: Follows an enigmatic Wood Elf hunter, a young Harbinger, and an irascible Imperial officer as they struggle to reconcile their differences. If they can get that far, they might just manage to thwart a Thalmor plot to overthrow Skyrim - and in effect, all of Tamriel - from within. Main characters are original, my own or used with permission. -ON HOLD-
1. No Small Coincidences

When he came to, it was daylight. And Fenrir was tied to a tree, staring into the face of a very angry looking Nord. She had night-black hair, tangled, and pine green eyes, bloodshot. She looked like she hadn't slept in a week. Though the girl was beautiful and young - not possibly past her mid-twenties, she was not exactly the most comfortable person to wake up being glared at.

"Is he awake?"

Fenrir's eyes darted to the figure behind the girl, the one who must have spoken. Now that they were up close, Fenrir could better appreciate the Nord's build. He was tall and muscular, with dark hair and black war paint on his eyes that made them appear bruised. He wore wolf armor. Companion armor. Uh-oh.

"Aye, Vilkas. And if he doesn't cooperate, he's going to regret opening his eyes."

The elf fixed his attention back on the girl, frowning at her threatening remark. "I'm guessing I've done something to upset you?"

"_Done something!?"_" Vilkas moved forward, his hand on his sword. The girl held an arm up to keep the warrior back. Fenrir wasn't impressed by the gesture, but Vilkas seemed to have enough respect for her to hold himself back. At least, physically. His remark was still critical and brusque, "Äne, he knows perfectly well what he's done! How dare he act like a fool!"

"Vilkas", Äne said forcefully, "Do you not respect my leadership enough to trust that seek restitution for this outrage?" From the quiver in her voice, Fenrir could believe she was telling the truth. He also got the feeling the two warriors had had similar conversations like this, before.

Vilkas recoiled as if her words stung, "Forgive me Harbinger. I spoke out of turn."

Wait, Harbinger? Fenrir's eyes narrowed. This _girl _was the Harbinger of the Companions? What kind of madness had possessed Kodlak for him to name _her_ his heir? She was either way too easy to underestimate or a good enough liar to have deceived the most discerning man in Skyrim. Fenrir wasn't sure which one he'd prefer was true.

Äne accepted her shield-brother's apology with a slight nod. Then she honed in on Fenrir. "So, are you a thief? A spy? A murderer? ...All three?"

"You went to all this trouble to capture me and you don't even know what I am?", the elf scoffed. Perhaps he wasn't in the best position to speak so freely, but since he had no clue what they were accusing him of stealing, spying, or murdering, he doubted even the meekest response would grant him an ounce of sympathy.

The Harbinger's eye's narrowed, "Don't play games with me, Bosmer. Is Farkas alive?"

"Farkas?"

She seemed to be considering breaking his nose. The electricity in her eyes made Fenrir wonder if she wasn't as well controlled as he'd previously believed. "Vilkas's twin.", she explained, "My… shield-brother." Whatever Äne had been about to call Farkas, Fenrir was certain it hadn't been "shield-brother." He pretended not to notice.

Intrigued, Fenrir risked a question. "He's missing?"

It was clear Vilkas wanted to say something brutish, but Äne didn't acknowledge her comrade's clear irritation. Pacing back and forth in front of Fenrir, she explained, "Yes, for some weeks now. He left to investigate rumors of a marauding gang in the Rift, and didn't come back. Two days ago, we received this note." Äne pulled out a tightly rolled scroll from the her satchel on the ground and held it up with a flair, as if trying to impress upon Fenrir that she knew he had seen it before. "A ransom, demanding I turn myself in if I wanted Farkas freed."

Fenrir scowled, "You think I'm a member of these… what, mercenaries? Why? Because I'm a wood elf?"

"You've been trailing us since sunset. You would have me believe it's coincidence?"

"Right, I would have no reason to wonder what you were up to, wandering around the Rift in the middle of the night."

There was a moment of silence as they studied each other, sizing up the force of each other's will. Fenrir didn't like how Äne's feral green eyes seemed to stare right through him. Being blind on his left side, it was harder for him to achieve such an intimidating look.

Fenrir grew tired of the silence relatively quickly, and was the first to speak, "Look, even if I was some Silver Hand who had it out for you and your shield-siblings-"

"I said nothing about the Silver Hand.", Äne's eyes narrowed, "What do you know of our feud with them, Bosmer?"

"My _name_ is Fenrir."

"_Tell us what you know_."

Fenrir sighed, "I know they're werewolf hunters… mostly they keep to themselves, stay away from decent folk. For some reason, they don't like _you_ very much. I think I'm beginning to understand why."

Her fist rammed into his face, hard. He wasn't entirely surprised by the response, but the force of the impact caught him off guard. For a moment, his vision went black when the Harbinger's knuckles collided with the middle of his face. He could taste blood. She was definitely stronger than she looked. The dragonhide gauntlets Äne wore didn't exactly soften the blow, either.

The rage he felt at being treated so roughly was tempered by his better sense. If he lost control now, he might as well be signing his own death warrant. If living in the wilds had taught him anything, it was patience. "I'm... not a Silver Hand, if that's what you're thinking", he managed to snarl, blood trickling from his nose and lower lip. Nothing could be farther from the truth, he almost added, but held himself back.

Vilkas treated their ears to several choice words that Fenrir decided it would smarter not to respond to. He glared up at Äne, "Look, I'm no friend to whoever took your shield-brother. I promise."

"What is the promise of a mer like you worth?", Äne asked.

Fenrir met her gaze, "I doubt anything will make it worth much to you. If you've already decided I'm the enemy, there's no way for me to make you my friend."

The Harbinger's eyebrows narrowed, "… Indeed."

Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled. From the pitch, the elf recognized the call as a summons. Fenrir also noticed that both of the Companions seemed to grow suddenly more on edge. Äne cast Vilkas a meaningful look. He gave Fenrir one more angry glare, before turning and vanishing into the forest, hand on his sword hilt. Fenrir could hear the heavy-armored footsteps clanking through the underbrush long after Vilkas was gone. It was clear the man knew nothing about stealth. It must have been the girl who had taken Fenrir by surprise. He felt his pride smart at the thought.

Äne didn't seem inclined to make any kind of conversation in the absence of her friend. She kept her eyes trained on Fenrir, no motion going unnoticed.

Fenrir decided now might be his best chance to escape. Even if Äne was a superior warrior, all he had to do was transform into his Wolf form and he was home free. No man or mer could match the speed of a werewolf. And rope binds were useless against the primeval strength of any werebeast. "You think the Silver Hand are behind you're friend's disappearance?", he asked, hoping to make her lower her guard.

"You tell me", Äne retorted.

Fenrir rolled his eyes, "Alright, humor me. Before you masterfully deduced that I'm a werewolf hunter who has it out for your guild and wants you dead… were the Silver Hand the only group you suspected?"

"...No." Äne answered carefully. "In fact, I didn't believe the Silver Hand were behind it at all."

"Why not?"

"None of the activities matched the Silver Hand I knew when Kodlak was Harbinger. They don't plan kidnappings - they don't take prisoners. They certainly don't send ransom letters. But that _doesn't_ mean I will pretend they could never be behind it."

"I guess not. Who else could it have been?"

"Certainly not common bandits. Ruffians aren't smart enough to do anything like this."

"Your Farkas is one man. I group of bandits-"

"Would still never be a match for him!", Äne snarled. "You did not know him."

"Fine", Fenrir straightened his back against the tree and tried to roll his shoulders. His hands were falling asleep after so long in binds. Plus, the blood from his nose and lip had dried now, and it was beginning to bother him. "What about the Forsworn?"

"In the Rift? Don't be ridiculous."

"You're the one who didn't want to cancel out any possibilities."

"And _you're_ the one who's being interrogated, not me", Äne reminded him, though perhaps with less of an edge to her voice than she would have had before.

"Okay. Imperial soldiers then." Fenrir had meant it to be another ridiculous accusation. The Companion's were known to all of Tamriel as a guild of _neutral_ warriors, sworn against mixing themselves up in political affairs, except when the word of the Harbinger was sought out for an unbiased opinion. The Imperial legion would have no reason to want anything to do with the guild. Besides, it would be hard enough for a group of soldiers to enter Skyrim, now that the Fatherland had broken away from the Empire thanks to Ulfric's civil war. But apparently Äne had been seriously considering the possibility.

"Why not send the ransom to Ulfric directly? That's what I keep asking myself…"

Fenrir raised an eyebrow, "What does the High King have to do with anything?"

"You're not very well informed", Äne pointed out bluntly.

A woodpecker's rapid pounding echoed through the forest. Äne's gaze flittered to the direction of the sound, as if it might conceal a threat. Then she seemed to check herself, and with an untroubled gaze that Fenrir noticed was forced, the Harbinger sat down cross legged and let her hands rest on top of her knees.

_Now!_, thought Fenrir, abandoning his self-control and letting the beast within loose. His auburn hair rippled and spread down his body, darkening to a black chestnut as it went. Pain exploded from his chest as his ribcage, heart, and lungs expanded, and his fingers stung like he'd reached into burning coals as his fingernails morphed into grotesque black claws. His spine elongated, and and thick tail coiled out behind him. His ears began to rise up along his head as his jaw snapped out of place and stretched into a sharp-fanged maw like that of a wolf. A savage roar erupted from his throat as all of his senses sharpened and the thick three-strand ropes that had held him snapped like they were made of twine.

He shook his body out of of the limp strands and rose to his full height before casting a wild glare at where Äne stood. Fenrir now towered over the Nord war-maiden. She had not drawn her sword. Though she looked surprised, he could smell no fear on her. It didn't matter, they would never cross paths again; Fenrir was free. He leapt towards the thickest area of the woods, where men could not easily follow.

His one good mahogany-red eye saw more in beast form, even by itself, and his reaction speed was unmatched as adrenaline flooded his system, making it easy for him to move at breakneck pace through the undergrowth. Call it arrogance, but Fenrir was certain he was no longer in danger. He didn't bother to look back for signs of pursuit, which is why he didn't anticipate the sudden, jarring impact that struck him like a bear from his blind side.

He felt claws dig into his hide. They had to be claws, they were too sharp to be arrows, and too well placed. He kicked hard with his hind legs and tried to spin around, but the momentum of his attacker sent them both catapulting through the dirt. He roared, trying to figure out what was fighting him. He could make out black fur and the scent of wolf. Slashing indiscriminately, his claws hit the other beast somewhere close to its bone, and it recoiled. Its weight removed, Fenrir leapt to his feet, fangs bared. Crouching on all-fours before him was another werewolf, one that he recognized with a shock of disbelief and horror.

Her fur was night-black, her eyes were a feral green.


	2. Friend or Foe

Suddenly, the feud between the Companions of Jorrvaskr and the Silver Hand made sense. The Harbinger was a werewolf.

Fenrir wasn't sure what surprised him more, that Äne was a Wolf like him, or that she had actually dared to reveal her beast form in order to stop him from escaping. She had taken a tremendous risk, knowing that if the truth of her condition, a cursed creature of the darkness, got out, the repercussions would be disastrous for both her and her guild. Perhaps she believed that Fenrir's elf-blood would make it easy for her to call him a liar if he squealed. Perhaps she intended to kill him, so to her it mattered little if he knew what she was.

He growled a warning to her.

She growled back.

Äne was smaller than him in beast form, even with her thick mane of black fur standing on end. Be that as it may, he wasn't about to underestimate her again. Her claws were sharp and her fangs were bared; if even the smallest of insects could deliver a deadly bite, how much more a supernatural beast from legend?

"I'm clearly no Silver Hand", he snarled, "Let me go, Wolf-sister." His voice sounded much deeper than when he was in elf-form.

Her eyes narrowed into slits, and her muscles rippled as if she was preparing to pounce, "You've only proven to me that those cowards aren't behind this. Being of the beastblood doesn't clear your name, elf. Far from it."

He took a step to the side, which she countered readily. He began to circle her, keeping her well well away from his blind side, and she mirrored his movements warily. When Fenrir charged at her, she leapt nimbly out of the way of his claws. Not waiting for Äne to regain her balance, he took off in the other direction, trying to escape from the fight before one or both of them was seriously injured.

He hadn't gone 20 yards before she was on his back, clawing the fur off his spine.

"Coward!", Äne roared.

Arching his back, Fenrir rolled, forcing her to let go of him in order to avoid being squashed. He ran at her, and she dodged. Fenrir followed her, refusing to give her a moment to catch her breath or counterattack. Twice more he tried to flee, and twice more she intercepted him. Both were breathing heavily now, and it was growing clear to Fenrir that he was wasting time. Vilkas must have gotten back to the tree from whatever he was doing, and the tracks of two galloping werewolves were not hard to follow.

_Have it your way_, Fenrir thought. If she insisted on a fight, he would show her what he was capable of. With a savage roar, he sprang towards the she-wolf, claws outstretched. She darted under him with a speed he had not realized it was possible to posses, leaving him with only a few strands of black hair from her tail to show for his attack. He hadn't even landed from his spring before he felt her fore-claws rake across his thigh.

Hitting the ground hard, he struggled to turn and face her.

Her tail whipped back and forth angrily. "Don't make this harder than it has to be", she menaced.

He responded by charging her again. This time she didn't dodge. She also didn't try to keep herself upright against the full weight of his body. Äne dropped to the ground on her back, and used the force Fenrir had gathered to knock her off her feet against him. As his momentum kept him moving forward, she kicked his stomach hard with her hind legs, sending him flying past her and into a tree. All she had done was reverse her trick. Instead of _her_ going _under_ him, _he_ had gone_ over _her.

Fenrir knew he was fast. He knew that his entire life, he'd had to be the fastest to survive. Now Äne had duped him twice, causing him to make mistakes that easily could have cost him his life. Why she hadn't taken the opportunities she'd created so easily to break one of his bones or snap one of his tendons, he wasn't sure. But she was probably up to something. His back and his pride hurting, Fenrir forced himself to focus. He wasn't going to beat Äne quickly, she was too smart. But perhaps he could get her to make a mistake.

"Who is the coward?", Fenrir taunted, deciding to attack the one thing all Nords seemed to value: honor in battle. "Kodlak Whitemane would never have run like you do, from a Mer!"

Her eyes glinted malignantly, "You knew nothing of Kodlak, elven scum!"

"I knew enough of him to see that his memory is poorly represented by _you_!

She leapt forward to meet him in a head on attack. Big mistake. Better than he could have hoped for. Äne recognized it was the wrong move too late. Fenrir bit down on her shoulder hard, knocking her to the ground. He raked his claws across her chest and shook his head even as his fangs tore through her thick fur and into her muscle, ripping the puncture marks open into gashes.

She screamed in agony and tried to kick him off of her, but he released his hold and pushed her away before she could counter. Blood trickled down her shoulder, and Fenrir might have worried that he'd seriously maimed her, except that he knew firsthand how powerful the healing capabilities of the Wolf were. Already, the opened arteries would be clotting, stemming the bleeding. Of course, she wouldn't be darting nimbly into the way of his attempts to flee anymore.

"You'll pay for that", she snarled, but the pain she was feeling bled into her voice, and it came out as a whine.

"I didn't want to hurt you", Fenrir retorted, "You forced me."

He would have turned and left, except that a distant wail cut through the air. It was the same voice that had called Vilkas away, the elf was sure. But this time, it wasn't a summons, it was a scream of agony, so sharp it made Fenrir's nerves quiver. It appeared he and Äne weren't the only ones drawing blood in the Rift.

A whimper escaped Äne's throat. She took a hesitant step towards the direction of the cry, then glanced at Fenrir.

He twisted his ears back, prepared to defend himself, but there was no need to. Äne ran from their battle then, towards whatever had called out.

The scent of blood was in the air. Lots of it.

_I will not lose another!,_ Äne told herself, ignoring the pain that jarred through her with every paw step. The physical exertion of transforming was wearing on her, and if whatever had attacked her shield-siblings was powerful enough to force a cry of pain from Aela, Äne wasn't sure what her already shredded body would be able to accomplish. But that didn't matter. She had to fight. She had to try. Kodlak's death had almost broken her, and Farkas's fate was looking more grim with each passing second. Äne would not let a third friend be stolen from her.

Suddenly, the woods were much too quiet. The she-wolf slowed her stride and moved forward more carefully. She stalked past the cliff where Aela had been keeping watch to a spot further down and peered over the edge of the drop off.

The magic could be felt before it could be seen. Her fur stood on end as the air sizzled with electricity, though the sky was clear. A paralyzing burst of lighting arced through the sky, heading upward to hit her squarely in the chest.

For a moment, she lost control of her body. Äne couldn't breath, couldn't move, couldn't see. Her muscles went limp and her body cold as she fell like a ragdoll down the steep slope before her, hitting rock and root and having no ability to control her fall. Blood began to flow freely again from the wounds Fenrir had inflicted earlier. The world was a blur, and what parts of her weren't already numb, excruciating pain throbbed underneath the spasms caused by the shock spell that had struck her.

She hit the ground below hard. Ears ringing, the Harbinger could feel her body quivering, unable to remain functional in beast form and therefore returning to it's human state. Äne could already feel her jaw shifting back into it's normal place. She struggled to channel her anger, to bend it into fuel she could use to sustain the Wolf. But her strength was expired. As her lungs and heart shrank first, her exhausted body was no longer being supplied with enough blood and oxygen, incapacitating her further.

As she gasped for breath, a cold voice spoke from the shadows. "And here I thought you'd cause _some_ trouble. Those bureaucrats have no idea what kind of enemy deserves a high-risk label. Still, I'll probably get a promotion for bringing you in single-handedly." Her vision was still fuzzy and out of focus, but for Äne there was no mistaking the dialect of the Thalmor. She tried to get to her feet and face the Altmer wizard, but he wasn't alone. Two armored soldiers grabbed her roughly from behind as the robed elf came forward to inspect her. They twisted her still useless arms behind her and she felt thick binds being wrapped tightly around her wrists.

"Don't bother struggling", the Thalmor wizard told her, his voice heavy with the characteristic Aldmeri air of assumed superiority that was maddening. "Those binds were made especially for you, Änwin Ravencaller. There's no escaping them, they're threaded with silver."

"What-", she struggled to speak, still winded. It didn't help that her body was raking with spasms as it returned to human form. "What have you done to my shield-siblings?"

"That feral beast of a woman and her filthy male friend?" The wizard laughed, "They're being treated to the Aldmeri Dominion's finest display of hospitality. Once they've been interrogated, we'll see what creative ways the torturers can dispose of them."

She lunged forward, prepared to bite her oppressor if she had to, anything to stop his intolerable, cruel arrogance. The soldiers behind her yanked back fiercely, one of them punched her in the gut, giving her a pretty good idea how the Bosmer had felt when she'd been the one looking down, not so long ago.

The wizard hadn't even bothered to take a step back from her attack, "Foolish girl." He lifted one hand, electricity sizzling and crackling from it. "Did you know that it's possible to turn a living person to dust if you only strike them with enough energy? Of course, I'm under special orders to bring you in alive; but there are fates worse than death, wouldn't you agree?"

She spit on his robe.

That made him move. "Arg! You will learn to show the proper respect for your superiors, filthy dog!"

The tip of his boot rammed into her jaw, making Äne coil into herself. The two Thalmor soldiers laughed as they jerked her back up. The wizard sneered down at Äne, leaning down so that his yellow-skinned face was inches from hers. "I'm going to enjoy bringing you to the Embassy."

A twang echoed through the trees, and suddenly an arrow was protruding from the neck of the Altmer to Äne's right. He fell gurgling to the ground.

The wizard jerked back, both hands now sizzling with magical energy. Using one hand, he created a magical ward around himself; with the other he wielded blue sparks of energy. "Who's there?"

_Twang!_

The soldier to Äne's left fell, his elven armor pierced through at the heart.

"Show yourself!", yelled the Altmer wizard, looking around wildly.

It was silent for a moment, and then a wolf appeared from between the trees, in clear view of Äne and the wizard. It's coat was a snowy white with blackened points that almost looked like frostbite. It's yellow eyes took in the scene, which it surveyed with an uncharacteristic intelligence. When it honed in on the Thalmor wizard, the creature twisted it's ears back and bared it's fangs in warning.

Behind the wolf, another figure stepped forward, bow drawn and aimed at the last remaining Thalmor. It was Fenrir. He seemed to have come out of thin air, but Äne couldn't see any magical aura around him that implied he had made himself invisible.

The wizard's eyes narrowed, "You are interfering with the Thalmor Justiciary. If you don't surrender yourself immediately, I will kill you."

The wolf at Fenrir's feet growled deep in it's throat.

A wry smile lit the wood elf's face, "I'd love to see you _try_."

"This is the last warning I'm giving you!", the Wizard insisted.

"You're right", Fenrir replied cooly, releasing his loaded bowstring. The ward blocked the blow, but the force behind the arrow shattered the Thalmor's magical shield and before the high elf could focus his energy to recreate it, the fangs of the wolf were upon his throat. He fell to the ground, his scream cut off as the powerful jaws clamped shut on his neck, killing him instantly.

The animal released it's deadly grip and licked it's bloodstained chops, glancing at Äne before reaching back down and tugging the Thalmor Justicar's black robe away from his body.

Fenrir was behind Äne quickly, pulling a dagger from somewhere on his body and cutting furiously at the binds. "I think you owe someone an apology", he told her gruffly.

"I seem to have misjudged you, elf", Äne answered, still having trouble believing he had actually come back to save her. "Thanks."

He grunted an acknowledgement.

Äne watched as the white wolf drug the clothes from the dead wizard, leaving him in nothing but a loincloth, boots, and gloves, and dropped them at Fenrir's feet. The elf made a strange guttural sound that couldn't have been an actual language, and the animal barked, apparently in response. Äne felt the binds snap loose. Fenrir picked up the robes and dropped them into her black-clawed hands, which were the only part of her body where signs that she was a werewolf still remained. She slid the robe over herself quickly while the elf checked over the bodies of the fallen Thalmor soldiers.

"You're going to want to recover your armor, Harbinger", Fenrir motioned towards the top of the cliff, "It's probably better that you don't go around flaunting Thalmor robes."

"They took Vilkas and Aela", she told him, struggling to control the horrible emotions that were welling up from within her.

Fenrir nodded without looking at her, brushing blood from his hand onto the furs that were wrapped around his waist. "I know. The main group of Thalmor are mounted and moving fast towards the southeast. Your friends are injured and weaponless, but alive." He turned and looked her in the eyes, "There are too many for you to take by yourself. Especially with your injuries."

The Harbinger considered this information darkly, massaging her wrists.

"I would get out of here", Fenrir continued, "Stay off the main roads for a while and head to Windhelm. The High King will want to know that Thalmor are loose in his country, he'll probably send soldiers. That's you're best hope for your friends, Harbinger. You know this."

She did know this. Deep in her heart, she knew that even if it was possible to catch up with the Thalmor, they'd subdue her easily and nobody but the Aldmeri Dominion would stand to gain from her actions. But would Ulfric really help her? If he decided to, who was to say it wouldn't already be too late? She didn't even know where her friends were being taken.

"_God help me"_, she prayed aloud, rubbing a hand over her face.

The white wolf whined and nudged Fenrir meaningfully.

He responded with several more strange noises, which Äne realized were actually wolf-sounds.

The animal growled and wagged it's tail, whining in her direction and cocking his head.

"Is he your pet?", she asked quietly, peeking at the animal from between her middle and index fingers.

"He's my brother", Fenrir corrected her sharply. "His name is Sköll."

"Your _brother_?"

Äne took Fenrir's lack of response to mean that he was serious. "What is… Sköll, saying?", she asked.

The elf sighed, "He says… he thinks we should come with you."

Sköll barked and lifted a forepaw, tail wagging more vigorously.

Fenrir walked over to where the arrow that had deflected off the Thalmor's ward had landed and picked it up, examining the tip, "And Sköll... _never_ tells me to get involved in someone else's problems."


	3. Shadows of the Past

Äne quickly learned that Fenrir wasn't the kind of person who enjoyed long conversations. Seeing as she had enough issues of her own to deal with, it normally wouldn't have bothered her. Except he was clearly in possession of skills that a normal woodsman, even a Bosmer, would not posses. The Harbinger couldn't help but be curious about her new companion, if not still suspicious.

There were any number of lunatics in Tamriel, but as the three of them made their way through the Rift and into the Eastmarch, it became increasingly clear that Fenrir wasn't one of them. There was definitely a logical meaning behind his habits, even if it escaped her. Being elfkind, Fenrir's age was impossible to guess, but she couldn't imagine he was more than a hundred years old, since he lacked the radicalism of most older mer. He moved through the woods with an unbelievable finesse; and even with the heightened awareness of her beastblood Äne never heard more than the shadow of an echo of his footfalls. They never went hungry, either, as he proved to be uncannily resourceful when it came to finding food.

Very quickly, Fenrir also began to display a number of peculiar habits. Like insisting upon eating raw everything he managed to forage, and stopping in his tracks each time a breeze ran through the birches to listen as the leaves shuddered together. More bizarre was the fact that he would frequently trade screeches and howls with whatever animals happened to cross their path in the woods, even cave bears. Most quirks Äne was happy to ignore. These weren't among them.

The Harbinger knew more about the wolf that she was traveling with than the mer. Sköll definitely seemed to view the trip more favorably than his elf brother. He frequently amused himself by chasing down birds, squirrels, and foxes, only to let them go again after he'd had his fun. And he ate bugs. Frequently. In all, Sköll reminded Äne more of a kitten than the fearsome, rabid animals that she had hunted across the wilds of Skyrim. If she hadn't already seen him rip the throat out of a Thalmor wizard, she might have thought he was completely tame.

After three days of rigorous cross-country trekking, they reached the Darkwater River. It ran north from Lake Geir straight to the heart of Eastmarch, where it merged with the White River and flowed past Windhelm. The sound of it's steady current would accompany them all the way to the ancient stone city. The distant echo of waterfalls signaled to Äne that they had also reached the far boundaries of Riften Hold. By unspoken consent, the trio stopped by the bank to set up camp until morning.

Sköll busied himself with grooming as Fenrir went off in search of fresh meat. Änwin began to hunt down firewood. She wondered morbidly where the Thalmor patrol was, noting that the Dominion's marauders had been heading almost completely in the opposite direction. It felt wrong somehow, like she was running away. Äne pushed the thought back quickly

Fenrir returned soon with a brace of conies and a handful of gourds. He divided the rabbits equally among them, saving Äne the pleasure of skinning and gutting her share. Her injured shoulder prevented her from performing the task quickly. Though the wound was almost two-thirds knit back together, it was still sore and resistant to any kind of stretching motion. She wasn't about to let the elf see her display weakness, so Äne didn't ask for help.

They ate without speaking. Nights spent with her fellow shield-siblings were never so cold. The Harbinger couldn't help but remember the many feasts she had shared before a roaring fire with the rest of the Companions; meals with hearty laughter and good-natured boasting. And brotherhood. All of the warriors who called Jorrvaskr their home had sworn to defend each other and bring honor to their guild.

But an icy wind was blowing from the north tonight, and the fire was small. There would be no friendship, no hearty laughter, for many weeks and countless miles. Fenrir was an elven wanderer, an outcast from society, and as earnest as his promise to help her might be, he was still a stranger to Äne and could not be confided in.

As she lay down on the most comfortable patch of dirt and leaves to be found, Änwin prayed that if nothing else, her kidnapped friends were able to see each other, and know that no matter how dim their circumstances, they were not alone.

Silence descended over the world as night fell, but not darkness. Northern lights lit up the sky in waves of deep blue and aquamarine. Tamriel's two moons hovered behind the aurora, half cast in shadow; and further away still floated thousands of stars.

But as the hours passed, the lights faded. Clouds rolled in, covering the moons and stars; and thunder pealed from a still distant storm. Äne and Sköll were dreaming by then, but Fenrir found that he couldn't sleep, despite the exhaustion that was heavy in his bones. He had questions with no answers, and uncertainties with no promise. Eventually he decided that the darkness of the world was more appealing to him than the shadows within his mind. Leaving the moldering fire, he set out into the forest, hoping to find something to occupy him until either sleeplessness or night hours reached their end.

_"You shouldn't wander",_ came a voice from behind. Fenrir turned to see that his brother had followed him. The white wolf stared with knowing yellow eyes.

_"I won't be gone long. Stay with the Nord girl, if she wakes up and finds us both gone, she may suspect we're up to something."_

Sköll glanced back at Änwin's sleeping form, _"She might. But the she-wolf will understand if you explain yourself honestly._"

Acquiescing, Fenrir continued his walk into the woods, Sköll following close behind. _"… What kind of a mess have you gotten us into this time, Brother?"_

_"I don't know why this journey upsets you so much more than the other ones."_ Sköll replied,_ "It's not half so dangerous."_

_"No, but it's different",_ Fenrir insisted, _"If the Companions have stirred up trouble with the Thalmor, I don't think I want anything to do with it."_

Sköll seemed to consider this, and they walked in silence for a time without having any real direction to head in. Then he asked, _"Do you really think that the Alpha-Ulfric will help her?"_

It was one of the questions that had been nagging at Fenrir since he'd agreed to escort the Harbinger to Windhelm. Barely a year had passed since the end of the civil war in Skyrim and Ulfric's ascension to the throne. Since then, things had not markedly improved for the inhabitants of the Fatherland. War had cost many brave soldiers - most of them farmers and fathers, and in some cases - mothers. Scarcely a single citizen had been able to remain neutral until the the last sword-fall.

What perhaps had become most clear to Fenrir by the end of it, was that no man or mer took power honestly. Ulfric's rallying cries had echoed the sorrows of a nation, but the man's heart was twisted by grief and a desire for revenge against all those who had taken from him what he saw as his birthright: freedom to worship his own gods, and the right to rule his Hold by whatever hand he chose.

Briefly, Fenrir had joined the rebellion. He had no love of the Aldmeri Dominion or the line of false-emperors who had taken the throne of Tamriel since the last true king, Martin Septim, had died. The Bosmer had hoped that a free Skyrim would mean a free mer, but he quickly learned that elves of any race were not trusted by the Nords. What small part he had played before Ulfric assaulted the city of Solitude and slew General Tullius, had made Fenrir no higher in standing than the other Bosmer of Skyrim.

Becoming a Stormcloak was possibly the rashest thing he'd ever done. But helping Änwin rescue her friends from the Thalmor was pushing the record, and he still wasn't entirely sold on the idea._"It doesn't matter if he helps her or not," _Fenrir decided aloud,_ "she'll be safe from the Thalmor in Windhelm and that's all I ever promised to do. I'm not about to risk my life for a Nord who hates the elves just as much as Ulfric."_

_"She can't hate you that much. She's let you come with her"_, Sköll pointed out mildly.

_"Only because she has an entire regiment of Thalmor on her tail. If I hadn't saved her back there, she'd still be blaming me for a crime I didn't commit. No, I don't owe her a thing, Brother, and I don't plan on being her keeper past the gates of Ulfric's Castle."_ Not waiting for his companion to reply, Fenrir quickened his pace.

The wolf watched his brother stride into the shadows, then turned his gaze skyward, just as the last light of the moon was concealed by the invading storm clouds. He let out a low whimper, and loped after Fenrir.


	4. Nobility

"Ugh!", Äne groaned as her right foot sank ankle-deep into the quaggy riverbank.

"The rain will hide our scent", Fenrir offered as he passed her.

Sköll had already coated himself with mud, and was enjoying the opportunity to splash through the bank with wild abandon immensely. Fenrir had somehow managed to avoid the deeper sinkholes; but Äne's heavy steel and dragonscale armor made sure that if she didn't step into an existing puddle, she carved out a new one. Her trail was clearly distinguishable through the muck. It was dangerous to leave tracks, but Fenrir had assured her that the rainfall would cause the Darkwater's banks to swell, and the trail would have washed away by the time anyone tailing them could find it.

Not that they had run into a single person since their path along the river had put them on the main road. It was eerily empty; even the once frequent Stormcloak patrols had failed to make an appearance. By Äne's estimation, they were nearly halfway across the Eastmarch, and the only sign of human life so far had taken the form of distant campfires burning at night - but even those were not necessarily manmade. They could easily belong to the nomadic giants that frequented these parts of Skyrim. The roar of a dragon had given the trio pause yesterday, but the beast had not made an appearance. Other than that, the long and well-worn road was shrouded in silence.

If these things were of any concern to Fenrir, he had not openly acknowledged it. At first Äne assumed that he, like her, was looking and listening for an unseen threat that was causing the subtle disturbance. But by now she had determined that he was experiencing no interest in the strange lack of travelers.

"You know, you never told me what brought you to Skyrim", she ventured.

"No, I didn't", he replied. After a sharp growl from Sköll, Fenrir continued, "Look: I think the less we know about each other, the better. I'm clearly no pilgrim from Valenwood looking for enlightenment, and something tells me the Thalmor want you for offences a little more severe than Talos worship - right?"

"I guess so. But I still don't know if I can trust you."

"Consider the fact that I'm not trying to convince you to believe otherwise as a sign of my good intentions."

Nothing more was said for several hours - until Fenrir stopped short and ducked into a crouch. "Someone's coming."

Äne dropped quickly behind him.

Three horses loped into view around the riverbend. They were magnificent, clearly Cyrodiil-bred and even from a distance Äne could tell they were worth a fortune beyond that of the common farmer, who was lucky to be able to own one of the heavyset shaggy beasts that Skyrim produced. The animals rain-soaked coats gleamed, even in the dull light; the lead horse was black, and it was followed by a dark paint and a chestnut. Only the first one bore a rider, but Äne's human eyes couldn't make out their features. "Thalmor?", she asked Fenrir.

Squinting, the elf put a hand on the ground and leaned forward a fraction of inch, as if it might help him see better. "Not Thalmor", he answered.

"Are you sure?"

Instead of answering, he began to list some of the riders traits. "Female… leather armor, I think. Brown hair…"

As the woman got closer, Äne could see that he was right.

Fenrir stood and held out a hand for the Harbinger. They maneuvered themselves onto the main road and tried not to look suspicious. Äne glanced behind her, but Sköll had already vanished into the woods on the opposite side of the road. She and Fenrir continued to walk forward as if nothing had happened, anticipating a simple passing of the woman on horseback and then a continuation without further event.

Fenrir should have known that anyone who could afford high-quality animals like those in this woman's possession would not have lowered themselves to traveling in the rain, or in leather garbs so unbefitting of wealthy merchants and nobles. He probably should have been paying more attention to her face, too, because he would have recognized it.

They hadn't gone a yard past each other when she stopped and looked back. "Fenrir?"

There was no way he could make a quick escape, so Fenrir turned to face her and hoped his suave would keep things from getting ugly. "_Sapph_ire? Is that you?"

"Of course it's me you stinking _skeever_!" So much for suave. She was already dismounting and drawing her knife. "You've got some nerve showing your face after everything you've done!", Sapphire threatened.

Äne, clearly uncertain, had a hand poised to unsheathe her sword. Fenrir shook his head the barest of a fraction at the response, and hoped she would get the message. The last thing wanted to do was kill Sapphire, and a drawn sword would only enflame the tension.

Holding up his hands to show her he wasn't of a mind to fight, Fenrir countered, "In my defense, we are on a _road_ in the _Eastmarch_. I'm not exactly trespassing on Guild turf, sweetheart."

"All of Skyrim is guild turf!", she snapped back. "You have no idea what kind of trouble you've made for us, walking out like you did! How could you abandon us like that?"

"Since when did you care what happened to the Guild?", he accused in turn, "Last I checked you were trying to keep them out of the cut!"

"What _guild_?", Äne demanded, making Sapphire turn around.

"Wait a minute… I know you!", the thief exclaimed, "You're a wanted criminal!"

"She's with me", Fenrir stated forcefully, stepping up to Sapphire and turning the attention back to himself.

Sapphire seemed to be trying to decide what to make of this. "Harboring a fugitive, are we?", she pressed her blade to Fenrir's neck. He knew better than to think the gesture was only meant to intimidate. Sapphire would kill for revenge; and right now Fenrir was under her foot. He wracked his memory for anything to diffuse the tension.

Her past was not a happy one. Raised a pig-farmer, Sapphire's home was attacked by marauding bandits. Her parents were killed; she was taken captive. As a young girl, life among the outlaws was not pleasant. Passed between the men and abused in more ways than one, she was lucky to have survived. But Sapphire did more than that. Somehow, she remained unbroken, and managed to gain the trust of those that had hurt her. Late one night, she crept among the bandits' sleeping forms and slit each man's throat, one by one. In this way, she had emerged from the ordeal with a sense of self-preservation and independence that was often mistaken for narcissism. Sapphire would not hesitate to take advantage of other's misfortunes. For these reasons it was difficult to take any of her actions in good faith.

Still. Once there had been a semblance of friendship between Fenrir and the Nord woman now at his throat. Neither of them were inclined to line up behind the Thieves Guild's "benefactor" Maven Black-Briar. Both of them valued their independence too highly. Of course, as events had turned Fenrir had come to the conclusion that the Guild was more trouble than it was worth. He had the scars to prove it.

The timing of his walkout probably could have been better, he'd no doubt made enemies out of many of the guild's members. But when he and Sapphire had been serving under the same banner, Fenrir had never doubted that she would have his back if he ran into trouble. He had allowed her to pull a knife on him for this very reason. He was willing to bet that she would work with him if he could only play his words right.

The alternative was not pleasant to think of.

"Maybe I should turn you both in to the Jarl.", she continued, "They're paying handsomely for her, and I bet they'd love to have you, too, even dead." Her tone was much too serious for Fenrir's liking.

Swallowing, the elf tried to sound confident, "This is important."

"Of course", Sapphire replied sarcastically.

"Look - my leaving had nothing to do with you. After everything that happened, it was dangerous to stay. They wanted more than I was willing to give. You can appreciate that, right?"

"Sure, but I won't pass up four-thousand septims when it walks past me on the road."

_Four-thousand?_, Fenrir thought. Glancing over at Äne, he saw that she was just as surprised as he was. "...Do you really want to risk a fight with a woman who has a bounty that high?", he tried, "She didn't get it stealing trinkets."

Sapphire scowled, then leaned forward and whispered in his ear, "Why don't we both take her? I'll settle for half the bounty. No matter what she's capable of, she couldn't possibly fight us both."

Fenrir knew Äne's heightened senses would have enabled her to hear Sapphire's proposal. He could already make out the sound of the Harbinger's heart-rate spiking, preparing for a fight.

Despite himself, Fenrir considered the idea of turning Äne in. He was reasonably sure he could take her in human form, especially with Sapphire to help him. If she dared to turn Wolf, she risked having to fight Fenrir in beast form, too. Sapphire didn't know that either of them were werewolves, and he doubted Änwin would be willing to take that risk. Two-thousand septims would be a handsome prize. He could potentially dupe Sapphire, and take all four-thousand for himself, too. Better to have the coin himself than get killed over it.

Sköll would have hated the idea. Living in the wilderness, Fenrir had little need of gold, and he didn't really think that Äne would have lowered herself to committing whatever act was worthy of such a high bounty. It sounded more like Thalmor meddling than anything else. If he turned her in, it would be for crimes she hadn't committed. Not only would he be going back on his word, but he'd be doing the exact same thing she had done to him, and he knew from experience that revenge was never as sweet as it first appeared. "Sorry, but I promised to help her."

"Still sticking your neck out for the strays?", Sapphire asked. Her tone was venomous, but Fenrir could feel the blade on his throat peeling away, ever so slightly.

"I guess so. To be honest, I still don't think it's fair for the innocent to be bullied into a worse fate than death for the pleasure of a few brigands." It was a direct jab at Sapphire's past, and more than a little brazen.

Her eyes widened at his words, and her grip on the knife tightened. Fenrir was struck by the uncomfortable thought that he'd stepped on a nerve he shouldn't have.

"That was low", she whispered.

No taking it back now, though. "It was the truth."

Sapphire's eyes flittered back and forth, searching his face. Finally she turned and reconsidered Äne, lowering her weapon,"You're too slow on foot. I'd be surprised if every bounty hunter worth his salt wasn't after you by now, and they'll have horses, dogs - maybe both."

"It could be worse", Fenrir pointed out, "I _could_ have to worry about friends putting a knife in my back." He looked meaningfully at Sapphire's dagger.

She rolled her eyes, but sheathed the blade decisively.

Less decisively, she glanced between him and her horses. A few moments later, giving Fenrir one more unhappy glare, Sapphire muttered, "Take the two geldings, then. I won't be able to sell them for a quarter of what they're worth anyways."

"You just tried to convince him to sell me out, and now you're giving us horses?", Äne exclaimed incredulously.

"Fenrir's right", Sapphire answered sharply, her eyes narrowing, "And I owe him a favor, anyways. Do you want them or not?"

"They're stolen", Äne accused, garnering stupefied looks from Sapphire and Fenrir.

"Look. If you want to go to Windhelm in manacles, be my guest", Fenrir replied dryly.

"If it matters that much to you", Sapphire offered, crossing her arms, "The owners of these horses aren't going to need them in Sovngarde."

"That makes me feel loads better", Äne replied sarcastically, "So when we're stopped and questioned, we can just tell the guards that a thief gave these animals to us and said the owners were dead; we figured it'd be fine. _That'll_ grant us sympathy."

"She's for real, huh?", Sapphire asked.

Fenrir pursed his lips, "Which hold issued the bounty?"

"All of them."

"You know as well as I do that each Jarl tracks crime separately.", he snapped, "She can't be wanted in every county for the same deeds."

"The High King himself declared it. That makes it a national offense.", Sapphire replied, and, noting the appall on both Fenrir and Äne's faces, added acerbically, "You've made some powerful enemies. I hope you have equally powerful friends."

"But Ulfric can't have-", Äne sputtered, "That can't be true! I haven't _done_ anything! Why would he accuse me of crimes I haven't committed?"

"Well I haven't exactly gone to the Palace of Kings and asked him", Sapphire quipped. "But... they say you're a murderer, among other things."

Cutting in before Äne could challenge the accusations, Fenrir offered, "Look, it's a _big _misunderstanding. We just need to get to the proper authorities and have it all straightened out. Which-", he turned his attention to Änwin, "means we're _happy_ to accept any help we can get at this point."

Äne scowled.

Sapphire gave Fenrir a knowing look, but didn't press him. She went back to her horses and gathered the reins of the two geldings.

The horse she handed to Äne, the pinto, had blue eyes and was entirely white except for his tail, chest, and a medicine hat, which were black. He was jittery, and his wolfskin saddle smelled of blood. Äne bit back any further argument though, and mounted without open complaint. Fenrir knew she would have more to say by the time they got on the road, and again questioned his sanity for deciding to help her.

His own mount was chestnut with a white stripe down it's face and four socks. It was clearly of a more displeasurable temper, but the muscles on it's flanks and chest spoke of the animals speed, and a few quick words in Elvish settled the animal down to a manageable mood.

"Thanks Saph", Fenrir said as she mounted her black stallion. His tone was much softer than before.

She met his gaze gravely, "Don't expect any help from the others, if you meet up with them. Brynjolf has promised to personally gut you and donate your remains to the worshippers of Namira. Vex is of a mind to do worse."

"I'll keep that in mind." Fenrir grimaced, turning his horse towards Windhelm. A sharp kick sent the animal charging forward. Äne followed close behind. The last Fenrir saw of Sapphire, she was still standing where they had left her in road, watching as he and Äne rounded the bend and disappeared from view.


	5. Valor and Vice

"So, you want to explain what that was all about?", Äne challenged.

Honestly, Fenrir was surprised it had taken her this long to say something. He and Äne had covered almost a mile at full gallop before the horses began to struggle, forcing them to slow to a walk.

By now, the road was getting rocky and steep, the river's current had turned it into whitewater, and the horses were breathing almost normally again. Dark clouds still hung heavy in the sky, blacking out every horizon, although it was no longer raining. Sköll hadn't caught up with them yet, but the fact wasn't really surprising; the wolf was probably tailing Sapphire, making sure she wasn't following them.

Fenrir met the Harbinger's acrid gaze and tried to sound pleasant, "She's an old friend."

"Yeah, I figured that bit out myself. From _where_?"

"You remember that talk we had? About the less we know about each other, the better?", he turned his head away, towards the steep, rocky drop between the road and the Darkwater river.

Änwin wasn't going to be shrugged off so easily. She pulled her horse up in front of Fenrir's, forcing him to face her and eliciting an angry snort from his horse. "Who are you, Fenrir? And tell me the truth, I've had enough of your sneaking."

He had of course been rehearsing his answers to Äne's inevitable interrogation since the moment he'd been sure Sapphire was going to help him. That didn't mean he was any happier about giving them, even in part, to a Nord woman as temperamental and dogmatic as Änwin. Fenrir was naturally a secretive person; he could count on half a hand the number of men, mer, and beastfolk that had ever known even a fraction of his true feelings. None of those few had learned anything by trying to browbeat it from him, except perhaps that he was a rather talented pugilist. Still, he'd rather not give Äne any more reasons to dislike him, and she seemed like the kind of person that would be offended if he broke her nose. So Fenrir leaned back in his saddle and scowled, "I'm a hunter. Nothing more."

"That woman–"

"I wasn't finished", he snapped, "I'm a hunter. But that doesn't mean I don't have a few skeletons. It hasn't _always_ been just me and Sköll… though I admit, I might have been better off in the long run if it had." There was a nugget of truth in his statement. He knew now that it had been a mistake to consort with the crumbling den of thieves hiding in the Ratway. However, Fenrir made a point of avoiding regret in his life; the event was a lesson well learned, and therefore valuable.

In any case, Äne's expression softened marginally at his words. Good. Fenrir knew it would be extremely difficult to give the Harbinger an answer without _really _giving her an answer. If she wasn't so determined to squeeze the truth out of him, if she thought he was expressing remorse instead of dodging the question, he might just be able to keep the true nature of his Thieves Guild affiliation under wraps. Because the Harbinger knowing he used to be an outlaw was one thing; the Harbinger knowing he was an ex-member of one of the most longstanding crime organizations in Cyrodiil just wouldn't end up going as well.

He continued, "I hit a rough spot in life, fell in with a… gang, of sorts. One with similar interests to my own, that would accept a Bosmer into it's ranks without question. It was skill they were after, and I fit the job description."

"What about 'Maven'?", the Harbinger demanded, "Maven _Black-Briar?_" It was no secret that the matron of the Black-Briar family frequently employed the Thieves Guild to do her dirty work. Äne had clearly begun putting things together, much faster than Fenrir had anticipated.

"Different Maven", he lied, hoping it wouldn't come back to bite him, "I don't know if it was her _actual_ name, though. The real Maven's signature carries a good deal of weight – it's usually enough to make people thing twice about meddling if there's the slightest chance that she's the one behind it." Of course, woe betide the poor fool who paraded themselves as the real Maven Black-Briar and got caught. Knowing firsthand how connected the Black-Briars were, Fenrir doubted that a fraudulent would last more than a week. Still, Änwin didn't know that. "We were a business, not a family, but we all played nice for the good of the Guild", he continued, adding narratively, "Most of us, anyways." He tried to move his horse forward into a trot, hoping Äne had enough faith in him to let them continue moving while he spoke. She didn't.

"What made you leave?"

"Staying became more trouble than it was worth."

"That's not an answer", the Harbinger retorted.

Fenrir grimaced. "_See these-?_" He pointed indignantly to two of the many scars on his exposed abdomen, both unique in the fact that they looked like the results of direct jabs rather slashes or clawings. One was smaller than the other, but it would be impossible to call either a minor injury. "Got them from our 'leader'. Filthy scumbag tried to murder me when I found out he'd been lying to the rest of us, and stealing from our cache."

"A thief stealing from thieves?", Äne replied, rolling her eyes cynically.

"Yeah, ironic", Fenrir smiled humorlessly, "After that things went downhill, fast. The others were furious when they learned the truth. They wanted me to help track him down… but I realized I was lucky to be alive as it was, told them no, and never looked back."

"You just ran away?", the Harbinger observed icily.

Fenrir wasn't particularly keen on the way she'd rephrased him. "No. I decided not to push my luck", he countered harshly, "…Would you really have done otherwise, Harbinger?"

"I _wouldn't_ have gotten myself in the situation to start with", she replied, sounding offended, "…But yes, if an outlaw who'd tried to murder me was still at large, I'd have helped track him down before I left. Honor demands it."

Of course she'd pull something about honor, Fenrir thought with a prick of irritation. "Well I'm sorry, _Änwin_", he answered with mock respect, "But I've never really been one for revenge."

Her eyes flashed, "_This isn't about revenge_. It's about doing the right thing. Your friends needed you to right a wrong. If this 'leader' tried to kill you, how could you be sure he wouldn't do the same to others, and succeed? If anyone has come to harm because _you_–"

"It wasn't that simple", Fenrir interrupted, his grip on the reins tightening, turning his tanned knuckles white. "Sometimes it's hard to tell whether a choice is noble or foolish. I did the best I could." Äne tried to cut in, but he refused to give her the opportunity. "Besides. The only people who would've gained anything are thieves and vandals. I told you, we weren't a family. We were a den of sewer rats looking for strength in numbers, insects in the gutter competing for real estate; just arrogant enough to call ourselves something else. Loyalty was a pretense, a mask. We used it to save our sorry hides, and the next instant ignored it for the same reason. It was every man for himself when it came down to the wire. There was no honor. Not even a little bit."

"You act like nobility is a respecter of persons."

He brandished his hand harshly, "Nobility? Pah. Nobilty is a lofty idea for lofty people. It's a ragged word people cling to to justify themselves and judge others. There's no honor among thieves; there's no honor among men. Even the Nine fail to be truly compassionate. In the end, we're all the same shade of black. You're a fool to believe otherwise."

"Watch your tongue, thief", Äne growled, a coldness in her voice that would make most men shrink back in fear, "I've known beggars with more nobility than jarls. Just because _you_ are a craven and a liar does not mean everyone else is."

This was a direct insult, and Fenrir couldn't ignore it. Abandoning all pretenses of civility, he roared, "What makes you think you know anything about me? You're a mercenary, a thug for hire. I'm–"

Fenrir didn't finish his sentence. His sensitive ears alerted him to the braying of dogs. And the animals were close – very close.

When Fenrir cut himself off, Äne stopped to listen. Her face, red with anger, whitened several shades in a matter of seconds. Had she been so caught up arguing with the elf that she'd missed the sound of a hunt? The same expression was echoed in her companion's eyes. Fear, real fear. They were both remembering Sapphire's warning about bounty hunters.

"The riverbed", Fenrir hissed, jumping off his horse and pulling it away from the road, down the rocky incline and out of sight.

Äne tried to follow, but her own horse jerked back once it saw how steep the slope was and planted it's feet firmly in place. "Come on, _move it!_", she yelled, as loudly as she dared.

The horse whickered and sidestepped.

Grabbing the animal's bridle, Äne tried to pull him down, fear making her rough. He shrieked, throwing his head back and retreating several feet. Äne was dragged with him until she managed to let go of the leather straps. The paint horse danced away from her grasp and snorted nervously from the opposite side of the road, shaking his head.

The howls were getting louder.

Backing up, the Harbinger looked over the edge of towards the river in hopes of finding a gentler slope to lead her mount. The decline was practically sheer.

"What are you waiting for, a sweet roll?", Fenrir demanded when he saw her, "Get down here!"

Casting her companion a venomous glare, Äne turned back towards the road and tried to catch her horse. Knowing what was coming, the gelding immediately began to evade her. "Please, boy!", the Harbinger coaxed. It was useless, he had no intentions of returning to her.

She considered leaving him, but if anyone saw such an animal without a rider, they'd surely stop to look around. Oh to be able to use magic as the elves, and command the creature to obey with only her willpower!

As it was, she wasn't fast enough.

From the hill above the road, a massive elk stag thundered into view with a gang of slobbering gray hounds at it's heels. The elk was covered with sweat, and judging from the dark stains on it's flanks, it had stumbled too close to it's pursuers earlier in the hunt. The wolfhounds were so fixated on their prey, they didn't notice the lone traveller on the road below.

The nobles who appeared shortly after on their frothing mounts were no different.

Nobles. Huntsment.

Not bounty hunters.

It took almost a full minute for Äne to release her breath, acknowledging she was safe. By then, the riders had passed out of sight again.

Behind her, Fenrir dragged his mount back up to the road. The horse hesitated at the crest, but the elf jerked the reins so hard that it had little choice but to follow him, giving a high-pitched squeal as it did so. Fenrir ignored the protests. His expression indicated something like murder.

"If they had been bounty hunters,", he told Äne sourly, "We would have been caught."

"Are you sure you meant to say 'we'?", she challenged, her eyes narrowed. Amazing, really, how quickly fears could be forgotten and bitterness could seep back into a conversation.

Fenrir gave a sneering grimace and walked towards the paint gelding. Äne watched sardonically as it shied from his approach, cantering several yards down the path before looking back. He stepped towards it again, and it backed further away uneasily.

"What are you waiting for?", Äne quipped, "A _sweet roll_?" She thought the elf might turn Wolf, he looked so angry. His good eye was a dark amber-red, making it look rather savage under his glare, and his jaw was clenched so tightly it seemed liable to shatter. But he gathered himself with difficulty and instead turned again to the horse. It sidestepped in anticipation.

"_KAAN_!", Fenrir commanded loudly. A strange force seemed to echo out of the word, as if the very utterance promised peace. Änwin's mount, looking suddenly docile, stopped evading and approached Fenrir submissively.

"Let that be an end to it", Fenrir muttered under his breath, snatching the horse's reins (the animal didn't even flinch at the speed of his hand), and giving them back to Äne. She took the reins slowly, eyeing her companion suspiciously as her horse remained tame and mute. "Was that a spell?"

He didn't answer her; but the slick, almost devious smile that lit up his face for a split second at her question was enough to convince Äne that it was not, and that she had failed to recognize something important.

As they spurred their horses into a brisk canter, Äne considered what she had learned about Fenrir darkly. Instinct told her that whatever facts he had presented about his past had been distorted, dismembered, or downright lies. His explanations were too quick, too eloquent. His defenses were too sharp.

The woman that had given them horses, Sapphire, had looked more like a friend betrayed than a 'sewer-rat'; she had most certainly thought of Fenrir as more than another 'insect in the gutter' at one point or another. But Äne wasn't sure if his apparent apathy towards Sapphire was a cover to protect her, a lie to protect himself, or something darker.

And how serious had the 'leader's' crimes been, if they had been willing to murder one of their own to keep it from coming to light? How had they even managed to stab Fenrir not once, but twice? And by what methods had Fenrir survived such injuries? Even his beastblood couldn't have stemmed the bleeding before the elf died, not on it's own. The injuries were real, but was the story?

Who was Maven, if not the Black-Briar? And what sort of word could calm an animal, as if it were magic? Äne's head was spinning, but if there was one thing she was absolutely certain of it was the fact that Fenrir _wasn't_ just a hunter. He clearly held dangerous secrets, and running with him was as likely to get Äne killed as it was to get her to safety.


End file.
